


The Burgundy Twist

by quiznakeries



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: BDSM, Established Relationship, M/M, Married Sheith, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Bottom Keith (Voltron), Shibari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:09:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28944216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiznakeries/pseuds/quiznakeries
Summary: He’s taking too long, and he knows he’s running out of time when Keith begins to shift above him, quirking a sharp brow.“I don’t come until you say.” He wheezes, forcing the words out between his teeth.Keith hums, tracing the particularly large knot of rope at the center of Shiro’s chest with his fingertip. “And?”—-Or: Shiro’s husband helps him get back to earth when needed.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 65





	The Burgundy Twist

**Author's Note:**

> There’s not enough soft feels BDSM in fic in general, so I’m here to provide.
> 
> Most of this is a rewrite from an old fic I wrote in another fandom, so pls tell me if there’s a name or something that shouldn’t be in here lol
> 
> Enjoy! 🖤

It’s a nasty little thing, that trouble within that just won’t settle. It writhes and shakes behind his ribs and leaves a sour taste in his mouth. If he were to unclench his jaw and open it, his words would be laced with poison.

Which is why he doesn’t. 

He sits through his day, he does what needs to be done and he avoids the seeking eyes of his coworkers. He counts the minutes until it’s somewhat acceptable to leave the office.

The thing, it spreads on his walk home. Slithers and squirms through him until every muscle is strung tight. It’s got his mind buzzing with a static.

The half mile between his office and the apartment is too long, and the late Friday afternoon city around him is a blur. The noise doesn’t drown out the mean voice at the back of his head.

  
  


_ What did you expect, anyway? You knew you could have done better. Why are you even trying in the first place if you’re not going to bring it all the way home? _

_ Huh? _

_ Failure. _

  
  


The elevator dings, and he takes a long, shaking breath. He’ll be damned if he takes his bad day out on his husband. His absolutely fantastic husband who Shiro knows has come home early just to be here at the end of today and meet him, good news or bad. This beautiful, amazing man who for some reason puts up with all his bullshit.

Maybe Keith will let him de-stress by fucking his husband until he screams and tears the bedding, bruising and merciless the way Keith likes.

A decent outlet that has proven to benefit them both on more than one occasion.

When he kicks his shoes off in the hallway and calls Keith’s name, though, he’s surprised to be met with silence. He walks into the open plan living area, where the stereo plays a smooth jazz on low. The lights are set dim and cozy, and an aroma of food cooking wafts over from the kitchen area. 

Savory, smoky, fresh herbs.

The smell draws him in, and he knows if he pays attention his body is screaming. He hasn’t eaten since breakfast, and even that was sparse.

Whatever it is it’s cooking in the fridge oven, and the kitchen is otherwise neat and clean. None of the usual chaos of knives and onion peels and pans in all kinds of places that usually accompanies his husband's cooking. The polished stone top of the kitchen island is glossy and squeaky clean.

Which is why what’s standing on it sticks out so much, beckoning him.

Shiro reaches for the glass, standing next to an open bottle of his favorite Châteauneuf-du-Pape and a folded note. He swirls the dark content of the glass as his fingers flip the paper to read.

_ Decanted and ready for consumption!  _

_ Had to step out, BRB  _

_ /K _

Shiro can’t help but smile at his husband's almost childlike, oversized scrawl. It’s something he’s always found so endearing.

That, with the powerful bloom of ripe cherries, plums and dark chocolate that coats his tongue at the first sip of wine, stills some of the storming weather in his blood, if even just for a moment.

He takes a big gulp, let’s the warmth of an alcohol strong wine such as this pool in his empty stomach as he tries to breathe.

Keys rattle in the lock, a door opens and closes. Shiro listens to the soft and distant sounds, until the voice speaks from across the room.

“You’re home.” Keith says, matter of fact. When Shiro turns to face him, he stands in the doorway to the hallway, a cardboard box caught under his arm. He’s effortlessly handsome, dark jeans and a black t-shirt tucked in lazily behind his belt buckle, long hair wild and loose. He crosses the room slowly, setting the box on the coffee table without breaking eye contact. “So? How did it go?”

Shiro sets his glass down just so he won’t shatter it in his hand. He turns away from his husband, watches the liquid slosh within the glass. His jaw aches from how hard he clenches it shut but there’s something grounding about that. 

He listens to the sound of socked feet closing the distance, doesn’t so much as twitch when steady hands curl over his shoulders.

“Hey.” Keith tugs at him. “Look at me.”

It’s second nature. Moving closer to Keith is as natural as breathing, and so his rigid limbs comply without thought. He turns on the spot, instantly invaded by the sensory impressions that come with Keith up close. The warmth radiating off his skin even when he’s just come from a winter chill outside. His peppery smell. The visual of charcoal eyelashes framing expressive eyes an impossible shade of dark blue.

Long, bony fingers trace the line of Shiro’s jaw, and Keith frowns.

“You did incredible work, babe.” He starts, his soft touch turning to a firm grip when the words make Shiro try to jerk away. “You and the others gave it all you had, and if the buyer chose to go with another developer that’s their loss. Don’t-“

Keith doesn’t startle or budge when the cool metal of Shiro’s prosthetic shoots up to grab his wrist.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He says firmly, in that voice that makes his employees take notice. That voice that on any other day would make the man in front of him now shudder. Make his eyelids droop and his breath hitch. 

But there’s none of that now.

Keith seems unaffected, like he doesn’t even notice the metal clamping down too tightly on his arm. He presses closer, nudging Shiro back so that his hip digs into the counter.

“No you’re going to let me talk.” He says, and there’s a new set to his tone. It falls over his features like a mask of steel, crackles like a sparkler in the dark shade of his eyes. Shiro blinks, surprised even if this isn’t new.

He’s just never ready for when it happens.

Keith is always a force. A firecracker that burns out in his hands and turns into a smolder, red hot metal bending to his will with the right treatment. They both revel in it, how Keith allows himself to turn pliant and sweet when Shiro wills him to.

This is entirely different, but no less encompassing. Keith looks at him with a hardened expression, impenetrable and ungiving.

“You think you need to come out on top in everything you do.” He continues, the hand not keeping Shiro’s face still pressing hard against his stomach to hold him in place. Shiro feels his breath grow shallow. “You don’t expect anyone else to be perfect but you.”

Shiro itches to turn the tables, to shove his husband against the nearest surface and make him shut up. But there’s something in the set of Keith’s posture, a demand in his gaze that renders Shiro immobile despite himself.

“You’re not perfect.” Keith says it softly, breathy and fanning over Shiro’s lips with how close he’s leaned in. It’s not mean, there’s no taunting edge to his tone. But it still makes Shiro flare up, blood rushing hot and angry in his veins. “Not the way you think you need to be. And you can’t control how things turn out.”

Shiro scowls, mouth twitching with the words rumbling on his tongue. But something in the way Keith sets his brows, digs his fingertips into Shiro’s jaw, makes him hold it in. The moment draws long before Shiro realizes he’s begun to mimic Keith’s steady breathing, bringing himself down with his husband's silent guidance.

It makes him falter, just a little. It’ll never stop amazing him how they work together without words, no directions. How Keith can play him like a violin.

“Finish your glass.” Keith nods to the abandoned glass on the counter. “Then you know what to do.” 

He pins Shiro with his gaze for a moment, just a silent opening for Shiro to back out if he wants to. But he’s already caught up in Keith’s game, hooked on just that sliver of relief. 

Shiro nods slowly, blindly reaching for the glass. But Keith raises an expecting eyebrow, hands still holding him in place and waiting.

“I do.” Shiro confirms, picking up on Keith’s wish for a verbal reply. A sly smile stretches on his husbands mouth, and he pats Shiro’s cheek lightly before he steps back.

“Good boy.” He says, and it hits Shiro like a dart hitting bullseye.

This word exchange is usually the other way around, and it’s a thrill in these rare moments of their roles switching so swiftly.

He takes a big gulp of his wine and watches Keith saunter back across the room to the coffee table, where he picks up the box from before and disappears to the guest room without a look back. There’s a confident swing in his hips, black hair swinging against his back as he walks away.

When his glass is empty, he checks to see that the oven is on a low warm-keeping temperature and that whatever is inside won’t burn, and makes his way to the master bedroom.

There, the connected bluetooth speaker plays the same sensual jazz as the stereo in the living room. The bedside lamps light up the room with their soft, warm glow, and the blinds are closed. 

Just stepping into the room has some of the stiffness in his bones softening, like his body knows.

He makes quick work of his clothing, most of them going straight into the hamper by the door. He makes the bed that is still messy from this morning, tugging carefully on the sheets and fluffing the pillows before smoothing out their surface with his palms. 

Lastly, he goes to the mirrored wardrobe lining the entirety of the right short side wall. He catches his reflection, naked and haloed by the orange-toned lights, before he opens one of the doors. There on the bottom, appearing perfectly innocent, stands a black leather briefcase among a pair of other bags. No one would know it isn’t empty like the rest, that it’s never been used to carry a single thing outside of this apartment.

He grabs it by the steel handle, and sets it on the carpet by his side of the bed. He settles next to it, on his knees facing the bed, with his back a straight line, eyes falling shut.

And then he waits.

He thinks about the few other times they’ve done this. How despite their usual dynamic, Keith can whip out this side of himself that makes Shiro’s well constructed resolve crumble at his feet. How he can so completely rob him of all his control. How much Shiro fucking  _ loves _ it, once he starts to let go.

No one else but Keith.

Part of Shiro is reluctant, still. Always is in the beginning. But the better part yearns for the freedom that comes with having his will taken away. It’s physical surrender before his brain can catch up, when he’s tired and worn from being angry and hard on himself.

He wonders how Keith knows, how he tells the difference between Shiro’s usual over achieving mindset and when it spins out of control. Because Shiro himself never seems to know where he crosses that line into something Keith feels the need to go in and put an end to.

The minutes drag by slowly, and Shiro knows it’s part of it. Making him wait. 

But after what feels like a forever in its own right, he finally hears footsteps coming up behind him. The sound makes his skin prickle, and he tries not to frown when something touches his brow. It slides down over his eyes and tightens, ties at the back of his head.

He never liked the blindfold, robbing him of the best part. The visual of Keith. His husband knows this well, which is why the damned thing only comes out when Keith has a point to make. A lesson to teach.

A hand strokes his hair back, traces the shell of his ear before drawing back. Keith isn’t speaking, which is also part of the game. Shiro only gets to see, hear and feel what Keith decides to give him now.

The briefcase clicks open next to him, and Shiro sharpens his ears as if he could hear what Keith goes looking for.

Items drop on the carpet behind his back, one after one. Then those fingers are back in his hair, pulling just firmly enough to make him follow. Keith brings him up to standing on his knees, and nudges his legs wider apart with his foot. Shiro tries to obey the silent commands, shuffling and repositioning until Keith is satisfied.

Behind him, settling between his feet, Keith sinks down. His hands smooth down Shiro’s neck and shoulders, coming down and bringing his arms behind his back. It’s a slow, gentle touch, and it’s infuriating. The nasty thing still simmers just beneath the surface, and Shiro craves all the things he isn’t getting. Bruising touch, frantic kisses and noise.

But he can be good, can wait. 

Still, he takes a measured breath just not to fight it, when the first rope loops around his wrists and ties them together. There’s a mellow heat beginning to swirl like smoke in his abdomen, as that rope loops and curls and digs into his skin. It’s not ideal, since he knows it’s only just begun. But his body hardly listens to reason, focused as it is on Keith’s presence close behind him, the sure movements of strong fingers working the rope up his arms.

When his wrists are secured, the working hands move on to wrapping soft but strong rope over his torso, looping under his arms and over his shoulders, crisscrossing and braiding patiently. It takes some time, and Shiro can feel the restlessness bubbling right under his skin. It’s frustrating, sitting through it all with no say and no power to speed things along. He tries to focus on the ropes, the feel of them pressing into his skin, how his usual advantage of physical strength is slowly being stripped away. He briefly wonders which ropes his husband has gone for. Feels like the new ones, the burgundy red, but it’s hard to tell.

When he does this to Keith, they like to use the silk ribbons rather than rope, but that hasn’t stopped them from collecting multiple sets of high quality rope over the years since their playing began.

Keith pauses eventually, having taken his sweet time with the knots and patterns trapping Shiro’s arms and torso. Last time, he’d left it at that. The time before, he didn’t stop until Shiro was tied from top to toe. Like a bug caught and spun into a spider's net.

Behind Shiro, Keith shuffles back a little. He listens to the little sounds of movement, and there’s no rustling of another rolled-up rope coming loose. Instead it’s something more precise cutting the silence, a snapping sound that instantly makes his cock twitch.

Over the music he hears the telltale sound of a plastic cap.

He gasps at the sudden rush of hot breath in his ear, and it sends an unexpected, almost violent shiver down his spine.

“Lucky-“ his husband speaks softly, an ill fitting innocence lacing his tone as if he isn’t dragging his thumb down Shiro’s lower back, over his tailbone and slowly, slowly sliding between his cheeks. Shiro flushes, feels the warmth spreading on his face and neck as Keith stage whispers into his ear. “-that I went and picked up that package today after all. I was going to wait, give it to you on your birthday.”

Shiro breathes through his nose, tries to keep his body somewhat relaxed under Keith’s touch. He clenched his teeth, doesn’t hide the hitch in his breath when slick fingers prod at his hole.

He spreads his legs a little further, allowing his lover more room. The puffs of a chuckle fans at the nape of his neck. “Lucky for me, at least.”

Shiro’s jaw goes slack when the first finger breaches his rim. It’s not an alien feeling, even if it has been a little long since last. Bottoming has become a rare treat he doesn’t indulge in often anymore, with both their preferences being what they are. Still, Keith’s finger slides in fairly easily, pausing at the second knuckle to allow him some breathing room.

Keith hooks his chin over Shiro’s shoulder, and Shiro wishes he could turn to look at him. See his eyes blown dark, the smug smirk on his pretty mouth.

Keith works that single finger in and out for far longer than necessary, Shiro struggling to hold still and quiet with the teasing bringing little waves of heat to his groin. So when the second digit finally presses in beside the first, he can’t help but squirm helplessly with his breath caught in his throat. His sudden movement effectively leaves him empty, and he squeezes his eyes shut behind the blindfold in frustration.  _ Shit. _

“Still.”

Shiro straightens his spine, suppressing the urge to curl back into Keith.

It seems his efforts are deemed good enough, and he sighs in relief when both of Keith’s long, knobby fingers re-enter him in one smooth stroke. They keep working him, making little sparks go off behind his eyelids.

It doesn’t take long before Keith’s fingers slide easily in and out, scissoring and curling methodically. Shiro’s head spins with the self-restraint and the overall feeling of his husband behind him. He’s been fully hard for a while, his cock nudging the cold edge of the bed frame. He gives a long exhale as Keith slips his fingers out with a muted squelch, taking a moment to probably wipe the lube off on a towel. He always brings at least two, black and soft and kept at arms length.

There’s some shuffling, Keith rising to his feet and stepping up beside Shiro on the floor, picking something new from the briefcase before coming to stand behind him again. His husband drops a hand to the top of his head, just holding it there, unmoving. Then there’s something nudging his lips, something cold and rounded but far too small to be a ball gag. Shiro gets the memo, and parts his lips for the foreign object. It’s a metal ball, about the size of a lollipop, warming up on his tongue. It’s sitting at the end of a curved metal stick, the length of it pressing into his cheek the way Keith holds the object to his mouth.

Shiro swirls his tongue over the ball, the cogwheels in his brain slowly turning in the fog of arousal and trying to identify what’s in his mouth. It has to be a pretty sharp curve, like a-

A hook.

He doesn’t even try to hold back on the moan when he realizes, a shockwave of sizzling warmth rushing through his veins and coming together with the already there arousal sitting low in his belly. It’s a toy the two of them looked at a while back, but that he’d forgotten all about until now. A steel hook with a loop for bondage rope on one end and a ball roughly an inch wide on the other, designed to complement rope play.

A breathy chuckle comes from above, Keith clearly seeing that Shiro is catching on. He tugs the hook gently, and Shiro lets it slip from his mouth with a pop.

Breathing hard through his nose, he waits as his husband gets seated behind him once more. There’s a barely audible sound of lube squirting out of the open bottle, and Shiro feels himself go rigid. It’s making his bones shake, not being allowed to move or speak or see. He’d like nothing more than move forward a few inches and bend over, rest his cheek on the mattress and rut against the bed to relieve some tension.

It would look pathetic, he knows, but his pride is melting away with every drop of hot blood rushing to his groin.

When the slick metal touches his rim he sighs, breath broken and wanton as the ball enters him. The hook settles between his ass cheeks, still cool against his burning skin. The pressure of the ball pressing against his inner walls is slight, but it’s good.

Keith gets back to his ropes. 

Shiro startles with a sharp gasp, realizing with a sudden tug that Keith must’ve threaded the hook beforehand, the metal shifting a little as the rope crosses over the top of his stomach and back over his shoulders.

Words pile up in the back of his throat. He wants it so bad, just the privilege to express his frustration and the pleasure he’s experiencing. To tell his baby how well he’s riling him up. But he can’t have what he wants, and he hates what it does to him. How he doesn’t hate it at all.

A light slap to his thigh instructs him to stand, and he does so on trembling legs and takes one step back to create enough space for Keith to stand between him and the bed. It bugs him to no end, feeling the heat of his lovers’ skin just inches away, right before him, when he can’t see a single thing. He adds the complaint to the pile of unspoken words.

He rolls his shoulders, bites down on the tip of his tongue. Keith’s ministrations have finally reached his abdomen, every slide and brush of soft rope making his skin tingle and sear as they cross and hoop and tighten over his hips, between his thighs, around his crotch. He chokes on a gasp, his head lolling back when the rope catches his balls in a hoop just tight enough to make him ache for more.

The perfect picture in his mind has his hips shaking. Keith on his knees before him, face hovering inches from his swollen cock and beautiful hands working red braids around his limbs, pink tongue flicking out to wet his lips every so often. His fingers itch with the wish to thread through the his hair, guide that perfect mouth to his dick and maybe make him choke on it just for making him suffer this way.

Shiro knows it’s coming, but the next verbal demand coming from Keith still makes him shiver.

“Get on the bed. Face up, knees bent.”

Shiro nods, carefully moving to the bed without stumbling. It’d be awkward, considering he doesn’t have his arms free to catch himself. There’s a moment of complete silence once he’s gotten comfortable propped up on their fluffy pillows. He takes a deep breath, arches his back. He knows Keith is standing by the foot of the bed, watching him. The hook digs into his skin, the ball pressing against his walls in a lovely but quite unsatisfying way.

The mattress dips when Keith joins him, sitting up on the side of his bent legs and getting back to work. He binds Shiro’s legs carefully, braiding and twisting the rope down the length of his muscular thighs and connecting them at the knees. It leaves Shiro with short to zero mobility, and it sends waves of delicious thrill over him.

He’s not sure when he got there. When he started wanting it.

The ropes pinch and squeeze at him every time he shifts, every time he draws breath. It keeps him alert, the sharp stings keeping his mind from drifting. The first time they did this, Keith strung them too tight, and his flesh arm had gone numb. It wasn’t pleasant, flexing it back to life later. But they’d both learned over time, what to do and what to avoid. What works and what doesn’t. Which levels and touches will turn him into a sobbing and begging mess under his husband's command.

Keith shifts on the bed, a gentle palm pressing down on Shiro’s knee and guiding him to lie straight. A heartbeat later Keith’s straddled him, knees resting right below Shiro’s hips.

“There we go.” He says, voice smooth and satisfied. He runs his hands over the knots, the braids, tracing them up the length of Shiro’s body, coming to rest on his chest. Shiro just wants those hands on him, on his skin. But Keith doesn’t give it to him, just keeps tracing the lines with his body hovering over Shiros. A finger hooks on a piece of rope strung tight over his chest, tugging on it and letting it snap back into place with a smack. Shiro gasps, hips bucking in response.

“Keith...” the name rolls carefully off his tongue, Shiro going off a hunch that it might be okay to speak now. When no response comes, neither good nor bad, he tries again. “Please Keith..”

A low hum comes from above, urging him to continue. He sighs in relief. Thank god.

“The blindfold.”

“What about the blindfold?”

Shiro throws his head back, frustrated. Keith is well aware how he feels about being robbed of his vision. Shiro thinks he’s suffered enough. “Keith, c’mon.”

He can only hope that his lover agrees. He’ll probably have to beg for it, though, somehow prove how-

“Want me to take it off you baby?”

Shiro’s mind blanks for a second, surprised. He really expected more of a struggle, but he’s not about to complain.

“Yeah.” He breathes, a trace of goosebumps following in the footsteps of Keith’s hands traveling slowly up his neck and to the back of his head.

The blindfold comes off easily, the light of the room painting the backs of his eyelids red. Shiro squints to start, to readjust after the long while blinded. But his plan to go easy on the eyes falls short, eyes widening on instinct when his gaze falls upon the figure hovering over him.

“Fuck,  _ Keith _ .” He groans, taking in the others' appearance by scanning him up and down, over and over. He can’t believe. After all their years together, Keith still manages to blow him out of the water.

His husband has been hiding away his getup all this while, an all black outfit complimenting his tanned skin perfectly in the dim light of their bedroom. He’s squeezed into a pair of latex hotpants, leaving short to nothing to imagination. Silky gloves, his torso bare. But the icing on the fucking cake Shiro finds on the golden, supple thighs straddling his hips. Black, lacy nylon stay-ups.

His gaze travels up, past the wicked smirk on his husband's lips and meets the glittering eyes looking down at him. Shiro moans, long and shameless because he truly wants Keith to know just how good he looks.

“What do you think, ‘Kashi? Didn’t I outdo myself this time?”

Shiro nods, feasting his eyes on Keith’s bare chest. All sinewy muscle and soft skin. “You look amazing.”

Keith cocks his head to the side, smirk deepening.

“I meant with you.” He clarifies, dropping their eye contact to look back at his masterpiece. Shiro tilts his chin down, following Keith’s line of vision down his own body. The burgundy rope forming pretty patterns across his chest and pelvis, continuing to wrap around his thighs and down to his knees. “But thank you.”

Keith walks his fingers down Shiro’s chest, brushing past his nipples. Shiro draws a stuttering breath at the touch, the nubs instantly hardening at the slightest bit of stimulation like always.

“Wish I could watch you from the back, too.” Keith muses. “That hook looked so gorgeous sticking out of you.”

Shiro breathes a curse in response, Keith’s words pooling hot deep in his belly and sending the first drops of precome spilling, running slowly down his cock.

“But I need you like this tonight.” Keith continues, smile widening into a grin that splits his face in two. A glove-clad hand slips down Shiro’s stomach, across the knots and hoops to his crotch. Shiro can hear the hard beat of his heart pumping in his ears. “All your best parts up.”

Slim fingers wrap around his length, squeezing once before retreating again. He bucks his hips, instinctively trying to follow the touch of Keith’s hand. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, and he groans in defeat. 

Keith leans in closer to his husband's face, arching an eyebrow in a feign expression of concern. He’s so close, Shiro can taste the toothpaste on his breath. It hits him then, they haven’t even kissed yet.

“Easy there.” Keith tuts, tracing and pressing down gently on the ropes from Shiro’s crotch to his hip bones and back down. Shiro watches Keith as he goes, the younger man's mouth slightly parted and erection straining against those skimpy little shorts, looking thoroughly obscene and so, so fuckable on top of him like this.

Shiro’s head starts to really spin when one of Keith’s hands slides in between his thighs, one finger curling around the metal and thumb pressing on his perineum.

“Love this thing.” Keith muses, tugging on the hook and reveling in Shiro’s responding moan, the way his body bends and curves as he chases the stimulation. “Think I could make you come just like this?”

“Keith, no.” Shiro feels his blood run cold, eyes are blown wide, looking just a bit terrified. He doesn’t want it like that, helpless and pathetic.

Keith shrugs, giving one sharp tug that has Shiro thrashing beneath him. “You don’t get to tell me no.”

Shiro splutters, whatever words trying to get through crushed and mixed together by an overwhelming spike in pleasure as the metal inside him presses against his prostate.

Keith, however, doesn’t seem phased, just keeps thrusting the toy into Shiro with shallow movements and continues. “Should we go over the rules again?”

As much as Shiro knows how attentive his husband is to his state of mind and consent, this time he’s sure it has more to do with prolonging his torture than checking in.

Shiro  _ whines _ , eyes fluttering closed as he starts to lose himself in the feeling of the steel dragging against his sweet spot over and over again. But Keith is relentless, stopping his ministrations entirely and taking his hands off Shiro’s body.

Shiro curses under his breath.

“C’mon Shiro,” Keith’s grin is saccharine. “- tell me what the rules are.”

There’s a certain level of humiliation in listing the rules out loud, to speak the words and verbally admit to their weight. To commit to his own surrender. He’s done it before and this is the man he loves. He’d give anything to Keith. And yet the words swell on his tongue and his teeth press too hard together to keep them in his mouth.

He’s taking too long, and he knows he’s running out of time when Keith begins to shift above him, quirking a sharp brow.

“I don’t come until you say.” He wheezes, forcing the words out between his teeth in a hurried mess.

Keith hums, tracing the particularly large knot at the center of Shiro’s chest with his fingertip. “And?”

“And-“ he throws his head to the side, ragged breaths coming back hot and moist as he exhales into a fluffy pillow. It’s almost embarrassing how hard it is to speak such simple words, how his whole body shakes with reluctance. But he has to, if he doesn’t want his husband to keep torturing him until Monday. “And gr- _ fuck _ , greedy boys get punished.”

Keith grins, both hands splaying out over Shiro’s pecs. “See? That wasn’t so hard. And the safe word?”

“Red.”

Gloved hands give him an appreciative squeeze, and slides up towards his neck. “There’s a good boy.”

Shiro is panting, barely keeping his eyes open to see as Keith leans in and slots their lips together for the first time since this morning.

He moans into the kiss, parting his lips for Keith’s tongue to slide into his mouth. Kissing this man never gets old, no matter the circumstances. His husband loves to kiss, says it’s his favorite thing. So it comes as no surprise he’s stupidly good at it, always driving Shiro mad with his velvety lips and skillful tongue.

Shiro curses the gloves covering Keith’s hands as they come up to cup his jaw. The fabric is cool against him still, not warm as bare hands nor as intimate to the touch. He finds himself craving the closeness of Keith’s hands on his skin. 

But good things come to those who wait, he’s been told.

It’s just that Takashi Shirogane usually doesn’t wait for things to happen. He makes them.

They kiss for a while longer, Keith’s hands creeping down his chest, pinching his nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. Shiro arches to meet the touch, making the steel hook shift inside him and make itself known again. He gasps into the kiss at this, and Keith chuckles against his lips. Like he knows. Worst part is he probably does.

Keith breaks their lip-lock to work himself down, nipping at both skin and the rope that crosses his path. He pinches one nipple a little harder and rolls it between his fingers, sucking the other into his mouth when he gets there and smiling against Shiro’s skin as he curses and pants underneath him. Keith’s free hand slips down to tug on the rope wrapped around Shiro’s inner thigh, slipping his fingers underneath and kneading the flesh. His thumb dangerously close to Shiro’s crotch, pressing down and rubbing gently.

He is awfully collected, and Shiro can’t help but take a second to just be impressed by his husband. The usually restless and eager man who doesn’t like to be kept waiting, dragging things out like this and acting like he lives for it.

Keith leaves Shiro’s nipples swollen and red, moving on with quick pecks delivered to the sensitive nubs. Shiro pants where he lies, watches Keith sit up straight and smirk down at him. 

Keith brings the tip of his middle finger to his mouth, pinching the end of the glove between his teeth. His eyes are locked on Shiro’s, alight with mischief and burning arousal. He tugs on the tip of each finger with his teeth, loosening the glove before slipping it off far too slowly for his waiting husbands liking. Keith breaks eye contact to look down at his hand, flexing his fingers and watching them as if he’s never seen them before. Shiro doesn’t judge him, the man has great hands. So, so great.

It's a sight to behold, this end of the strip-show scene of Keith and his mouth and his hands and his thigh highs. Shiro can’t help it, the subtle roll of his hips as he looks on. But Keith doesn’t stop him, so he figures it’s allowed as long as he doesn’t get greedy.

When the second glove has come off, Keith shoots him a smile and scoots down his thighs, gloves still dangling between his fingers. He settles right above Shiro’s knees, and leans down to press a lingering kiss to his hip bone.

Shiro trembles in anticipation, never sure of what’s around the corner with Keith at the helm. But he lets himself fall back and enjoy the wet press of lips on his skin, tipping his head back on the pillow.

He hears it before he feels it, the hard slap against his skin. He startles, even though he shouldn’t be surprised. Keith has slapped him with one of his gloves, right on the spot he was just kissing. He repeats the action on the parallel side, and then straight across Shiro’s belly button. Shiro moans as he feels his skin tightening in the reddening areas, the delicious sting going straight to his leaking cock and making him feel lightheaded.

“Fuck Shiro, I’ll never get used to how good you look like this.” Keith mutters, leaning down and nipping at his bellybutton.

“Mmnh-.” Shiro is barely listening anymore, getting out of it by now he’s struggling to keep his mind from completely fogging up. His cock throbs and aches, having gone untouched for far too long and it’s driving him insane. Part of him wants again to rid himself of his bounds, flip his husband over and fuck him raw. But it’s not an option, his restraints tight and unyielding.

Keith chuckles into his skin, before licking a long stripe along a particular line of rope stretching across his abs.

Wandering hands tug on his ropes, slapping against the skin on his hips and upper thighs. Shiro’s hisses are part pain, part pleasure when his husband pulls on the rope attached to his balls, the rope tightening and loosening a number of times. It’s all a bit too much, suddenly, Shiro’s self-control reaching its brim as Keith keeps toying with the ropes, fondling his balls without touching them himself whilst still licking and kissing patterns on his stomach. With a choked sound slipping past his lips, Shiro’s hips give a violent jerk, his whole body shifting with the force of the movement and almost sending the man on top of him toppling over.

It feels good, for about a millisecond.

The hands and mouth on him retreat once more, and Shiro wants to scream. Perhaps he will, if Keith keeps it up. He closes his eyes to prevent from seeing the room spinning, or his husband's stern glare as the result of his disobedience.

“Didn’t we-“ he delivers a sharp slap to the bottom of Shiro’s ribs, forcing a silent moan from him. “-just go over this, no more than a few minutes ago?”

When Shiro doesn’t answer, Keith grabs hold of the braided pattern digging into the skin on his chest, bringing him up into a half-seated position with a rough pull on the ropes. “Huh?”

“Yes.” Shiro manages, his voice a little broken and ringing pathetic in his own ears.

“And what were they?”

Shiro almost sobs, feeling the nylon of his lovers stay-ups against his skin and his own dick throbbing and wet. He’s losing his grip, all things  _ Keith _ jumbled in and around him, coming together in some kind of beautiful and nothing short of painful mess.

He can’t steer his tongue to speak the words again, the muscle thick and motionless in his mouth. Keith shoves him back on the pillows.

“You know what happens now, don’t you?” he says, reaching for his discarded gloves and starting to put them back on.

Shiro stiffens, the thought of Keith dragging this out any further making his entire being sting.

“Baby, please.”

Keoth stops what he’s doing, one glove slipped on his hand but the length of it still bundled around his wrist. A small, devilish smile curves his plush lips and Shiro sees hope at the horizon.

“Such a lovely word.” Keith mutters, catching his husbands gaze and leaning in over him. “Say it again.”

“Please.”

“Please what?” He whispers, closing the distance and dropping feather light kisses at the corners of Shiro’s mouth and cheeks.

“Keith-“ Shiro squeezes his eyes shut as Keith darts up to place kisses to his brows and eyelids. “Please touch me.”

It itches on his insides, begging this way. But somehow it also makes the heat pooling in his groin intensify ridiculously and it’s all so damn good.

Keith chuckles, taking the one glove back off and tracing warm fingertips along Shiro’s sharp jawline.

“But Shiro, I’ve been touching you none stop?” Keith feigns innocence, looking down at the man tied up in burgundy with his eyes alight with the laughter bubbling in his chest.

Shiro can’t see what’s funny about the situation, at all.

“Make us come, Keith, please.”

Us. Because no matter what games they play, what rules have been set, Shiro wouldn’t have it any other way than this. The both of them, enjoying themselves equally and bringing each other over the edge. He used to be a selfish lover, chasing his own release and perhaps not caring enough for his partner. But that was before Keith, before this living and breathing firecracker that can make him strip down and fall to his knees with just a quirk of his brow came into his life.

Keith’s smile widens, breaking character just for the fraction of a second at the sound of his lovers choice of words.

“Okay baby.”

Shiro heaves a sigh of relief, having successfully avoided another ten minutes or more of his husbands pleasurable torture. He watches the other man stand up on his knees, stretching tall. A thin sheen of sweat glistens on his tanned torso, eyes clouding over as he’s finally letting himself give in. Shiro expects him to get off him now, to strip the shorts and get the lube.

But Keith doesn’t.

Instead he reaches behind himself, angling his hips to let his husband in on the action best possible. The sound of Keith’s shameless moan shakes Shiro to his core, coming out long and deep and so, so relieved. There’s a neediness swimming to the surface in his dark eyes, and Shiro finds himself conflicted with where to look.

“I have one more surprise up my sleeve.” Keith says breathlessly, laughing quietly at himself. “Or well, up somewhere.”

Shiro feels his own eyes widen, gaze darting back to his lovers’ hand reaching behind himself. This ridiculous, fantastic man deserves a fucking medal for keeping face so long, if things are as Shiro predicts.

“Keith..”

Keith hums, the sound rumbling deep in his chest and eyes fluttering closed. There must be a slit at the back of the shorts, Shiro realizes, watching his boy pull at something not quite coming into view to him from this angle.

With a tiny, sweet little moan, Keith wriggles the sleek toy out of himself far enough for Shiro to see. He groans, taking in the view of Keith thrusting the very familiar looking dildo back into his hole a moment later.

“Holy shit, Keith, baby-.” He sees his own cock, red and pulsing, twitch repeatedly as he watches the love of his life slide the toy in and out, in and out. “Shit, you’re amazing. So beautiful.”

“Always the smooth talker.” Keith replies with a crooked little smile, breath caught in his throat as he finally slips the toy out completely and sets it to the side.

“I mean it.” Shiro argues, a sudden steadiness to his tone. Because he needs Keith to know. Needs his baby to really know just how precious he is to him. How valued. How loved.

“I know you do.” Keith assures, leaning down to place chaste kiss on Shiro’s lips. “I love you.”

Shiro’s response dies on his tongue when Keith lowers his hips, bringing their crotches together for some much needed friction. A startled moan rips through his throat, and he bucks his hips, meeting Keith as he grinds down on him.

“Fuckfuckfuck-“

Keith chuckles, rocking them together so slowly it’s barely happening, and reaches over for the lube – that’s apparently waiting conveniently at their side.

Shiro winces when Keith lifts his hips, missing the touch before it’s even gone. He doesn’t have to wait long this time around, though. Keith’s getting impatient as well now, now that the dam has finally broken. He fumbles with the lube, running his slick palm over Shiro’s throbbing length in a haste.

He forgets how to breathe, lungs burning as Keith lines himself up, pressing down on the head of Shiro’s cock a few times just to tease them both.

“I’m-nngah—“

The words split into a breathless moan, Keith sinking down on him without warning and taking him whole in one fell swoop.

“God,  _ finally _ .” He whimpers, rolling his hips lightly, testing the waters. “Ah—“

Shiro’s eyes roll back, front teeth biting down hard on his lip as he tries not to thrust up into the velvety heat finally engulfing him. Keith is so good. So tight around him as he starts moving gently on his lap.

Keith builds his pace slowly, rising and coming down on Shiro’s cock with more force, more vigor, for each bounce. Sweat runs down Shiro’s throat, pooling at his collarbones. He wants so bad to set the pace, curl his fingers around Keith’s narrows hips and guide them both to bliss.

But it’s worth the suffering, worth losing his grip on things as he watches the most beautiful man in the world fuck himself on his cock at an increasing pace, pitched cries and moans passing through red, parted lips every time he comes down.

Somewhere in the background the smooth jazz is still going, but neither of the two registers the soft saxophone over the sounds of their heady breaths, the skin slapping on skin as Keith settles on a brisk pace. The sounds are almost as filthy as it feels, all sweat and precome and thigh highs and ropes. And with every steady bounce, the hook sitting snug in Shiro’s ass shifts, sporadically brushing against his prostate and making his hips come down to meet the feeling, just to snap back up with enough force to knock cries of his name from his lovers’ lips.

A particularly high pitched moan coming from above tells Shiro he’s hit the right spot, and so he keeps thrusting his hips up to meet Keith’s faltering rhythm, making him hiccup and shout as they work together to bring stimulation to that specific bundle of magic nerves.

A raging fire licks at Shiro’s insides, the heat drawing in tight.

“Anggh- Keith—“ he pants, trying to focus his gaze on Keith’s flushed face, on the hooded eyes shutting now and again just to spring back open with every press against his prostate. “M’gonna—“

“No you’re n-ah _ -not _ .” Keith reprimands, not slowing his pace or taking his hands off. It’s up to Shiro’s own willpower, getting through the last part alive and sticking to the rules. He whines, hot tears stinging at the edge of his eyes. “This game you can’t win, baby.”

“Keith please-“

Keith moans, a wild thing vibrating all through his body.

“Lo-oh  _ fuck- _ “ the younger ups his pace slightly, chasing the pleasure coursing through the two of them as they move together. “Love that word on your mouth.”

Shiro throws his head back, loving the way Keith’s voice sounds so perfectly broken, wrecked as he tries to shape words through the haze. But he also sees his chance, and he takes it.

“Please.” He manages again, taking full advantage of what his pleading does to his lover. Keith makes a guttural sound, falling into him and crashing their lips together in a messy, open mouthed kiss. Shiro snaps his hips, pointedly and precisely. He nips at Keith’s swollen bottom lip, tender flesh scorching hot and chipped against the tip of his tongue. “Fuck h-ngh,  _ please _ .”

“God, Shiro-“ Keith stutters out of rhythm, a telltale sign he’s getting close.

Maybe it’s playing dirty, or perhaps it’s the just right thing to do, but Shiro keeps it up, feeling how with every plead he means the word more and more.

“H-ah” The hook inside him hits his prostate again suddenly, and he finds himself chanting whispers against his lovers’ lips. “ _ Pleasepleaseplease _ .”

Keith cries out in response, shooting up in his position and clenching down on Shiro as he comes in his booty shorts with a powerful shudder wracking through his entire form. He rides out his orgasm on Shiro’s cock, while Shiro tries desperately to cling on to his sanity.

Keith’s fingers dig into his hips, pinkies hooked on the ropes there as he starts coming down from his high. He’s still keeping a somewhat steady pace, letting Shiro fuck up into him regardless of the oversensitivity.

“Now you.” He demands, snapping the ropes in his hold and clenching down on Shiro once more. It’s all he needs, really, to tip over the edge with a muted yell. His arms twitch as he comes hard inside his husband, instinctively wanting to reach for the man and embrace him somehow. The white-hot pleasure just intensifies - when he realizes he can’t actually do that.

Keith collapses on top of him as he comes back down, the both of them trying to catch their breath.

“Holy shit, Keith...”

Keith hums, taking another few moments before sitting back up and bringing Shiro with him by his ropes. Shiro huffs, wincing slightly as he’s still very much buried inside his husband and has an anal hook sitting snugly between his ass cheeks. Keith seems to get it, a breathy chuckle coming from him as he reaches behind Shiro to deal with the ropes on his arms.

It takes some time getting off, especially when Keith’s movements are sluggish in his post-orgasmic daze.

“How’s the hook treating you?” He asks after a few moments in silence, Shiro finally managing to wriggle one arm loose and wasting no time wrapping it around his lovers’ waist.

“Like I’m its bitch, that’s how.”

Keith giggles, sitting back with a sigh as Shiro shakes out of the now loose hanging rope on his prosthetic. Shiro slides his hands up and down Keith’s smooth back, reveling in the feel of his skin under his fingers. It always feels like he’s been deprived of him for weeks, after a single session like this. His hands travel down the slope of the small of Keith’s back, past the glossy hem of the booty shorts and gripping the soft flesh through the fabric. Keith jolts in his hold, a soft gasp escaping his lips. Shiro smiles cheekily, kneads Keith’s cheeks in his hands.

“The shorts are nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

  
  
  



End file.
